Bloodied Cobblestones
by Assassination
Summary: A trail of blood lead into the church where there was a gathering of Borgia guards, surrounding a wounded Assassin. Who felt like he was slipping from reality, like he was dying. It's so cold, so cold... [Going on a little break. This ISN'T going to be dropped.]
1. Chapter 1

The man darted across the rooftops of Roma, his breathing labored and hastening with each tap his foot made to the lightly shaded tiles. White robes fluttering behind him even the red sash was twisting about, like a flow of blood from a wound. He swallowed thickly while his eyes darted about, colors blurring and only reds along with a few whites sticking out of the 'darkness.'

Reaching his hand down, he grasped the hilt of his sword, gritting his teeth as exhaustion ebbed at his senses, telling him to stop and relax though his mind told him to hurry.

He needed to get there as soon as possible. After he'd caught wind of his comrade being overwhelmed by their enemies, being pushed and shoved into a wall by frantic swings of blades and maces. The man could even hear the clangs of steel, hisses of pains and cries before death.

No, he couldn't let that happen.

The blur vanished as his veins pulsed, adrenaline kicking in, spurring him on by the thoughts of his friend being torn to shreds by the swords then tortured in inhumane ways. He wouldn't put it past the Borgia guards, not at all.

Those men had tormented the citizens of this once beautiful city, Roma becoming ruins by the hands of corrupt and cruel men.

Which is why they existed, the Order of Assassins. The Brotherhood. Their Creed.

He felt a droplet hit his cheek, causing him to jerk his head back to peer up at the skies. Another drip slapped his skin, little flecks separating at the contact and flying before the remaining water slid down the expanse of his cheek.

Clouds began to grey over in color, a shrill of an eagle's cry assaulting his eardrums like thunder. The calling in a mournful manner caused his heart to wretch. Dropping his head to see Borgia guards rushing to a particular area. Swallowing, he dropped to a crouch and followed silently, leaping and grabbing onto a pole to then hoist himself up, trying to keep from groaning at the effort.

Once he was perched atop it, his elbows resting on his knees, crouched and staring forth. Exactly where the guards were rushing.

Towards a church.

People were screaming, in a frantic panic. Shouting things about a bleeding man, how there was a fight, and so much bloodshed.

A bleeding man garbed in white…

That was his comrade, his brother in arms.

Turning toward the building, he began to scale it with skilled accuracy, even as he turned his gaze back to the church while climbing. Clangs of blades reached his earshot, catching sight of the blood that was spattered upon the ground, shouts and screams. It was then that they ceased to cruel laughter, taunts and sick prodding words.

Apparently the man had retreated into the sacred place, a blood trail showing the new opponents where he'd gone.

"Cazzo." he hissed, biting his cheek once he hauled himself atop the roof, chest heaving while glancing around to see if there were a chance he could surprise the men below and save his friend. There appeared to be no way to do so unless he did a head-on attack.

Meanwhile in the church the figure was dragging himself to the alter, panting heavily while tired eyes rose to look upon the statue depicting their God. It seemed much better back when people didn't gather together for their religion, it seemed like it would become a cult or an insane round-up eventually. Coughing up blood, he grunted, slapping his right hand over his side, blood slipping through his fingers and onto the floor.

Closing his eyes, he cursed the last guard he'd dealt with, having gotten a good shot at his side thanks to his being occupied with another. Such dirty fighting, though he couldn't blame them. He'd done the same when he noted how the word called 'honor' no longer existed while fighting.

Parting his lips, he gasped and wheezed, pressing his left hand to the ground to push himself up as best he could.

He felt like he was drowning, choking on sand. That he was dying, bleeding profusely from the deep gash on his side.

His throat felt dry, even if the hot crimson coated the insides. Opening his eyes halfway, dazed and tired while turning his head to peer over to the cracked open double doors. The choking sensation returned, his hand moving to curl the fingers around his neck, blood soon coating the digits while raspy breaths were released.

He remembered home, back in the dry, barren place. When searching and finding clean water was a trial, when traveling was long and tedious to a point. How his steed would be calmed by his touch and how the sun bore down on him, warming him to the point he would at times take down his hood.

The hand on his side loosened, swallowing thickly to taste the coppery, tangy, substance that was still attempting to escape through his mouth.

Lurching forth, he coughed violently, shifting his hand to cover his mouth to muffle the sounds in case there were more guards on patrol. It hurt, his lungs began to burn and mind becoming encased within a mist that beckoned him to slip from consciousness. But he knew that if he did so, he would not awaken.

A thought crossed his mind, on how he was left to live this life. When he was supposed to die so long ago and yet here he was, feeling true death.

Did he honestly deserve to survive this long? What with his being so brash and thinking he could handle a simple two handfuls of guards while the Recluta were ordered to retreat. How the guards found them while he was training them was a mystery that may never be solved.

Leaning his head back against the wall, his hood then sliding off to reveal his face as he continued to pant, pain wracking throughout his system. His insides twisted and tensed, proving his question on whether he was truly dying or not.

He was.

It was obvious and yet there was the slimmest of chances that he'd survive to see another sunrise while drinking with the Master Assassin, the man had irritated the hell out of him before but now it was nice to stop and converse about the ranks and who should be promoted.

Now that was all going to end.

The doors slammed open, causing him to jerk his head into the direction of it, instinct causing him to reach for his minor supply of throwing knives. Halting once he saw the guard's horrified, death-filled expression before watching the man fall to the ground in a puddle of blood that had spread about more with his contribution to it.

Lifting his gaze up to who had dealt with the nuisance, only to see that his sight was blurring. Black crowded in at the edges of his vision, the bright light that was cast upon the figure to shadow his front and basking atop he, himself, was dulling.

Slowly his eyes fell shut, shoulders slumped before falling to his side, only to hear rushing feet and then felt hands grab onto said shoulders, an arm wrapped around his upper-half. Although his senses were falling and giving way to the cold embrace that felt like death the man could still feel the warmth that radiated off the other male.

The man shook him, tightening his hold.

"Hey…" he spoke while pulling the other closer, shifting a hand to check for a pulse. It was light, fading slowly. "…hey! Tenete gli occhi aperti!"

Forcing his eyes open, the wounded man glanced up to the other's face, catching sight of a scar marring the elder's lips. He rose his gaze up higher to connect with deep chocolate spheres.

He felt so tired, so weary and weak. Lowering his head again, the white attired male took his hand from his side, letting the blood flow freely while said limb fell to rest on his leg, closing his eyes once more with a shiver as he felt the air brush over his uncovered neck.

Now he knew who was holding him in his last moments.

And he wished at this time that someone else had found him instead, perhaps that guard that lie still on the floor several feet away. Just so he could die proudly, knowing he'd distracted those bastards long enough for the recruits to get to safety and be dead before another of their kind found him.

"_Apri gli occhi, dannazione!_"

Yet, he couldn't. His senses went fuzzy, everything sounding muffled and so far off.

"_Altaïr!_"

It was then that things went completely dark.

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><p><strong>Assassination's Note: <strong>this is a multichapter story, so don't start the 'You killed him?', please. I don't want to see/hear that. Also, this came to mind as I was waking up and let it wander to then get the 'He felt like he was drowning, blahblah' and here it is... I was also trying to give suspense in this chapter - which I'm sure annoyed lots of people, and I will _not_ do it again in future chapters.  
>Please review.<p>

(I have fixed up a few things in the first three chapters.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Assassination's note: **I actually had most of what this chapter was going to be originally typed out before but, alas...I lost my flashdrive that had it (that's two flashdrives so far). And so, I had to retype it but this is a different version from what I had before.**  
><strong>(P.S. I couldn't remember what clothes I gave Altaïr in the first chapter - I wanted to get this done so I didn't look - so I gave him one of the outfits that the assassins wear in Brotherhood, which would be logical to do, right...since this IS set in Brotherhood. But not those striped pants...I don't like the striped pants...)

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><p>Gritting his teeth, the forty-three year old shifted his left hand up to tear off his cloak, carefully wrapping it around his companion's midsection, tying it into a tight knot with furrowed brows and trying to keep his thoughts in check. First he had to stop the bleeding, that was the first priority. Altaïr would not die so easily, would not give up as easily, the man knew this for a fact.<p>

But this amount of blood he'd lost told a different story.

Tisking, the Master Assassin slid his left arm under the other's bent knees, grunting as he moved to stand. Readjusting the limp figure in his hold, the brown eyed male turned and made his way out of the bloodied church. Curling his fingers a bit as he saw people gathering around the massacre he'd left outside. Once those eyes turned onto him, covered in both his ally's blood and his enemies' blood, the gathering screamed, calling for more guards.

Guards who didn't care about anything but their next salary.

Frowning deeply, he deftly made his way to get out of the crowd, twisting his upper half and trying his best to keep from having someone bump into Altaïr's legs or shoulder, even trying to keep from having him touched at all. He needed to hurry though, there was no telling how much time the bleeding form had before he would fall into the embrace of death.

_I can't let that happen, _crossed his mind, furrowing his brows whilst the shadow hid the desperation in his eyes.

Altaïr had come to be like a brother to him, they had become close after some missions together - missions that required high skill and stealth to infiltrate an area that not even the Masteros could handle. That and some of the high ranking assassins did not wish to tread into such areas.

Some would say they were being smart, he and the other man simply thought of them as spineless at times.

Perhaps that had been what truly started their brother-like relationship, thinking of the high ranking assassins as cowards.

"Ezio!"

Jerking his head to the left, the elder man blinked once he caught sight of a familiar face. Her elegant dress fluttering about her with each hurried step she took toward him.

"Claudia...? What are you -" He cast a look down upon the slowly breathing man in his arms, lifting his gaze back to his concerned sister. "Never mind, we will discuss that later. I need to get Altaïr to safety."

Nodding, she turned and motioned back to where she came from. "My girls heard a commotion earlier, the Rosa in Fiore may be your best bet on keeping him out of sight for now."

Even if Altaïr had made it perfectly clear when they were in Monteriggioni, a few days before Claudia's birthday, that he was not interested in prostitutes dancing about him and touching him in the ways they had when they'd used them for blending purposes one day. Ezio supposed that's what the man was used to from where he hailed from.

_Come to think of it - _pausing his train of thought, Ezio began to follow the younger Auditore to the brothel.

The thoughts and questions about Altaïr's personal life could wait until later, either when he woke up or whenever he felt like explaining more things about himself.

Crowded streets seemed even more filled than usual, though that was probably because he was in a rush to get to the Rosa in Fiore, to get his friend down on a solid surface, get a doctor... His shoulder bumped into a guard, whom did not take kindly to it and hissed an angry insult.

Which Ezio would have taken the pleasure in ridding Roma of yet another Borgia rat but he had more important manners to deal with. So, swiftly, he ducked into a circle of people when he passed the guard and the man simply followed just to try and knock the Auditore down. Said circle stared at him with horrified eyes. All the blood...

"I will leave in a moment, my friends," he mentioned, offering a soft, out of place, smile. With the look he was sporting, the smile made him look somewhat insane.

So they dispersed.

Sighing softly, seeing that the guard was gone, he returned to where he was heading. Reaching it moments after Claudia had just gotten inside and was demanding the customers leave and that the girls gather up some linen cloths. Basically barking orders for the girls to get this and that while threatening to beat the men bloody if they did not leave.

With the urgency laced in her tone no one dared to disobey, seeing as this could be entirely serious.

And once Ezio entered with a panting assassin in his arms the girls gasped, the one holding the towels quickly spreading them out atop a couch, making sure to put more layers where the blood may soak into most.

They did not need evidence of them having an injured man's blood on such expensive furniture. Blood meant freaked out customers, freaked out customers meant no service, no service meant no information on the Borgia's activities and so on. The assassins needed that information and so they did their best to keep things clean.

"Percila! Get a doctor in here!"

Letting out a soft squeak at being commanded so harshly, the courtesan quickly made her way out the door to go and fetch one.

"Ezio, we need to get his -"

"I know..." he ground out, moving to untie his cloak from the tanned man's being. "...just give me a minute."

Finally getting the task done with a few mumbled curses and harsh yanks, letting the blood stained fabric fall to the sides of the unconscious man's. Soon moving to attempt and remove the equipment that was becoming an obstacle from getting Altaïr's top off. Which needed to come off for the doctor to do anything. First came the hood, then the mask was slid down entirely to reveal the handsome face that the tanned man hid from the world of both day and night - unless he was resting.

Ezio let out a soft exhale while loosening the guard covering Altaïr's stomach which, upon closer inspection, had been severely damaged and had a bare spot where the enemy could easily exploit and indeed they had. Biting his lower lip, the man loosened the sash and parted both layers that confined the body underneath the fabric.

Although they had known each other for some time, Ezio had never seen his friend in this condition. Stripped, even to dress this wound, and vulnerable for the peering eyes to rake over the bare skin that was open to the world. Never had he wondered why the tanned male never told him much about himself, never had he wondered -

"-io? Ezio!"

Blinking sharply, he veered over to the one whom called out to him, only to see that his mother was holding onto a linen cloth and motioned to the injury that her son had failed to remember about while, dhe assumed, staring at Altaïr's figure. Nodding, he pushed to stand and stepped back while watching with a worried look as she pressed the cloth against the gash.

If Altaïr made it through this, Ezio decided, he was going to send the man to Antonio for a few weeks or so off of anything assassin or training Reculta related. Also requesting that the thieves not pester the assassin.

Glancing over to the doorway as the doors creaked open, Percila returned with a doctor trailing behind her. If he hadn't been wearing a mask Ezio could be sure the man would possess a questionable look on his face as to why he was dragged to a brothel. But once the doctor's eyes turned to the unconscious man laying on the couch he briskly moved over and gently nudged Maria aside to inspect the damage.

A few, 'hmm's and 'possibly this would...'s before finally bringing some things out of his pouch, which was attached to his hip, before getting to work.

After what seemed like hours, Ezio was sitting on a couch opposite of where his comrade lie, the courtesans having cleared the room about halfway through the process of the doctor stitching Altaïr up. Crossing his legs, the elder Auditore sibling slung his arms over the back of the couch with half-lidded eyes. The lighting showing the worried wrinkles he was developing from this, having removed his hood right as the stitching began.

Finally the doctor stood, brushing his hands against one another then turned to face the Master Assassin. "He should be fine after a week or two...give or take. Though I would suggest that you keep an eye on him, make sure he does not do anything reckless to open his wounds."

"Si, grazie." The assassin lifted his right hand and reached for his wallet, his left tugging at the small rope that held it shut, tugging it open and looked up.

"One hundred florins is enough..."

Nodding, he reached into the wallet, pulling out the exact amount then paused before he handed it over, pulling out another fifty. It was then that he handed it over. "I cannot thank you enough, dottore."

Taking what was offered, the doctor nodded and gathered his things before leaving.

Pushing to stand after reattaching his wallet to his hip, Ezio moved over to Altaïr's side, looking over the still male's form. The injury to his side had seemed to be the worst, in the man's opinion. Breathing out, he rose his left hand and ran it through his hair with furrowed brows and closed his eyes.

_A few weeks of rest, huh...?_

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><p><strong>Assassination's note 2: <strong>And, just so you know, I'm going to be going into Altaïr's past via dreams. Since it would be boring going through chapters of Ezio just watching him - like the doctor told him to and stuff so...yeah, next chapter is dreams until I point out when it won't be anymore.

(I have fixed up a few things in the first three chapters.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Assassination's note:** I would like to wish my good friend xXSMiZXx a happy birthday and since I still can't find my disc for my scanner I'll just dedicate this chapter to her.  
>(enter Altaïr's past via dreams)<p>

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><p>The air was musky, heavy upon the body as if trying to weigh it down and keep one from moving either too fast or at all. It was the kind of day where no one would honestly wish to be outside, wanting nothing more than to stay inside and hide oneself from the sun's rays.<p>

That is if there was nothing to do at all.

Three certain boys were running about the marketplace with grins on their faces as two fled the one who was the 'Templar guard' for the day. Laughing and some taunts were tossed at the 'Templar.'

It was a normal day for the three friends, chasing, playing, training...

"W-wait!" a small blue eyed boy called out to the other two. "Slow...slow down!"

Bluish-grey hues glanced over a brown clad shoulder, a smug shimmer in them before glancing over to his fellow 'assassin,' noting how the dark haired boy looked back at the younger with pity in his eyes. Both eventually nodded and stopped running, slowing to a jog then to a casual walk as the struggling third caught up.

Panting and placing his tiny hands on his knees, the azure hues shut and upper-half hunched forth. "...t-thank you...ugh...I hate being the 'Templar'..."

"Mostly because you cannot keep up with us, Kadar," the dark haired one teased.

"That's not fair, brother!" the youngest pouted, lifting his head, eyes open and cheeks puffed out in a pout. "Every time I am the 'Templar' if I do not call 'assassin' fast enough." A kicked puppy look then crossed the child's features and the teasing boy shook his head with a warm smile, placing a hand atop the raven strands and ruffling them up.

"But we are helping you get faster, no?"

"I could not agree more with Malik," the second eldest of the three prompted, the puppy eyes fading into a laughing face. "You can be an 'assassin' next time, all right?"

"Hmm!" Nodding, Kadar tilted his head to the side, beaming at the promise made and then blinked before glancing over his shoulder to see the real assassins heading through the wooden gates blocking Masyaf from the peering eyes of the outside world. "Brother! Maybe father is back!"

A frown formed on Malik's features, brows slanting in an unsure manner before looking over at Altaïr whom didn't seem too interested in going to see if that was true or not.

Since they've come of age they were torn away from their family, like every other child who's parent was of the Creed. So emotional attachments were not truly formed in any form. The Grand Master seemed to believe that such things distracted one from their duty and task, that love and kindness were a weakness anyone could exploit. And if such were true, then that spelled doom for either the lone assassin or his 'brothers.'

The three of them watched the faces of the men pass on by, watched the emotionless faces, watched at how they walked with such dignity yet the two elder boys noted the hint of sadness as a few eyes veered over to them for a moment then back forth.

As far as they were concerned the only family they needed was just the three of them, together. No one else.

Altaïr turned his gaze elsewhere, looking down upon Kadar, whom was tugging at his brother's sleeve and motioning and asking if they could go see their father.

Blinking once he noticed dark orbs turn to him, the brunet rose his hand and gestured that they go. That he would be fine by his lonesome.

Nodding, Malik took hold of Kadar's hand and ventured to go find their father within the crowd of assassins.

Sighing, the young novice moved to walk through the small market, looking about and at the faces of men and women alike. Though the women's were covered, in fact, their whole body was clothed, as much as it could be without hindering the activities they had to do.

Twisting his body to avoid colliding into someone, the boy made his way to the bench right outside of the gates.

It was just a place where he felt free, one of the many other places he had to relax. Like a haystack, they were warm and comfortable, no doubt about that. _Perhaps I should go to one later,_ he pondered, raising a hand and pushing stray strands of hair out of his face. Moving to pass the stand just before the gate, his dual shaded eyes glanced over to see two men conversing in hushed tones.

Though their eyes told a different story than how their lips were moving.

There was joy within the depths of those spheres, a smile on their lips, it was then that Altaïr's eyes widened once he saw one push the other against the wall. He would have tried to stop the fight - if that's what it had been instead of what he was witnessing now.

Kissing.

Those men, those assassins, were kissing. Soon hands hand begun to roam the other's form and...

Confusion was clear on his face, blinking a few times, as if unsure to believe what he was seeing. Perhaps his eyes were losing focus and saw something entirely opposite of what he truly was watching.

Backing away, he turned his attention elsewhere, biting his lower lip and forcing himself to move forth. First unsteady steps, then walking, jogging before breaking out into a full sprint. Past the shops, past where he, Malik and Kadar had stopped playing the game, past the well, just urging himself to keep going even if he grew tired.

To flee what he'd seen.

To escape his mind reeling over the images flashing before his mind's eye.

Sodomy.

Those assassins had just started committing sodomy, a sinful act all in its own, something that would surly get them publicly harassed, embarrassed...

Maybe even run out of the town.

But, these were thoughts of a child, whom did not know what reality would befall upon those men.

A gasp was torn from his lips as his foot connected with something to knock him off balance, causing him to tip forth and resulting in crashing onto the ground. Bringing his arms up, crossing them to break the fall somewhat. Only to end up grunting as his right elbow connected to the ground, left hand pressed into the dirt.

The impact had scrapped his elbow, blood leaking out slowly from the small injury.

"Are you all right, child?"

Blinking, Altaïr rose his head to peer up at a hooded man who was crouched before him with a worried look. The boy's bluish-grey hues flickered from confusion before swallowing and nodding. Though the man didn't seem too convinced by the simple act and reached out to tenderly take Altaïr's elbow into his hand, inspecting it.

"...come with me."

Being hauled up gently the boy followed without another word, glancing over his shoulder to see that he had run into where it lead to the assassin's headquarters.

_I should probably talk to Master later..._

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><p><strong>extra notes: <strong>I got a definite verbal lashing from a friend of mine about how I used the word 'sodomy' for a simple thing as a kiss and so I decided to add just a little more to it to make the word actually fit - I hope I did it right this time.  
>I made triple sure I knew what 'sodomy' meant, remembered the definition, looked it up and asked my friend if I was right. I want to make this story as historicallygame accurate as possible so that you all can tolerate it/me.

(I have fixed up a few things in the first three chapters. This is the last edit.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Assassination's note:** The story is _not_ dead. I just suck at figuring out what to put down next. You can skip this chapter if you want...you'll see why I said that when you start reading it but I highly suggest you do for specific reasons I will not state here. (I'm sorry that it's short...)  
>(Altaïr's still dreaming)<p>

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><p>Altaïr's title had been stripped from him, ripped off like a band-aid that had just been placed atop a new wound. It had knocked him off balance and made him irate, hands having clenched into fists as the Grand Master spoke about how he should have killed him but decided he could redeem himself of the mistake he'd made at Solomen's Temple.<p>

Nine lives in exchange for his own. Nine men needed to die.

Yet, it had made him wonder if the loss of his friend's brother was worth sparing his life for. Malik had not been pleased when he'd seen him.

No, he was livid and angry. He snapped at him, ordered him to gather information although Altaïr figured he could just go in and kill the men, wasn't impressed in the slightest at what he'd found out...

Altaïr couldn't truly blame Malik for how he acted, pinning the blame of Kadar's death on he. In a way, it was correct. He was the one to blame for how brash he'd been at the Temple.

It had taken five of the nine men's words to confuse him, as if there was more to this than meets the eye. They'd given their reasons for what they had done, at first seeming so orthodox then slowly it made Altaïr ponder on their words. Question if his actions were ridding the world of corrupt men or if he was the one spreading madness in his wake.

Al Mualim had not been pleased in the slightest at his outburst, demanding answers not riddles.

Altaïr had never been so frustrated in his life at that point. He'd never fathomed he'd shout and demand answers from his Master either. It was then that he'd been shown the treasure that Malik had managed to bring back from Solomen's Temple. The 'Apple of Eden.' It was then that he was told the Templars were after it to destroy everything and plague the world, plunge it into the depths of despair...

Taking out Robert was a different story entirely. Yet once his throat had tasted his blade, the man had rasped out words, telling Altair that if he wanted real answers he should talk to the true leader of the Templars. His Master.

Al Mualim.

He'd gone back to Masayf to see his brethren turn against him, trying to kill him. Eventually, after sometime during the struggle, Altaïr had reached the place he wanted to be. He stood in the gardens, twisting around to face his Master once he'd spoken. The other must have seen him reaching for his blade since he'd cast some sort of spell to lock him in place.

When he almost had a blade pierce him in a vital spot, he'd broken free of the Apple's hold, glancing the other man's blade along his own with grit teeth. Altaïr's muscles had been tense during this battle, having to fight the nine men he'd killed, some steel tasting his blood and ripping his clothes. Though he'd pushed the pain to the back of his mind, just as he'd been taught, and fought.

He'd won.

Altaïr held his Master in his arms, eyes locked onto the other's own. Al Mualim spoke of how the other would not be able to destroy the Apple as he claimed he would. The Syrian had risen his right hand, slightly trembling, before closing his mentor's eyes.

He'd been determined to break the object that had driven the man into madness, yet couldn't after he'd touched it.

It showed him a map, it showed him things...

How Altaïr wished he hadn't touched it.

It was slow at first, he would only touch it when he didn't know what else to do. He'd run a calloused hand over the smooth, yet rough, surface and it would glow softly before dragging him into the thirst for knowledge that never seemed to be quenched. The assassin would jerk away before, before long, he'd lingered longer. Soaking up whatever the orb had to offer.

Altaïr had slowly become addicted to the information, he wanted more. He would only take pause to scribble down what he'd seen and learned on whatever paper was available.

Not even realizing what had also been becoming attached to the parchment with each word and line.

Maybe if he had, he would have stopped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Assassination's note: **Altaïr's no longer dreaming and you will now see why I suggested you read chapter 4.

**IMPORTANT**: For those of you who have read Bloodied Cobblestones since it started/was last updated, I suggest you go back and read the first three chapters over again so this chapter doesn't confuse you. They may be 'minor' edits, but it makes it worth it and so that you're not lost.

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><p>A certain Florentine was sitting on a chair across from the bed Claudia had recommended that they place Altaïr for the time being. His elbows were on his knees, hands' fingers threaded together as his chin rested atop them. Chocolate hues were halfway shut, gaze on his wounded comrade whom had resided here for a whole week. Due to the amount of blood lost and some drug, they only had certain moments where they could get some food into the assassin's system.<p>

Ezio hadn't been doing well either. He'd been troubled since the incident back then and had assigned La Volpe to deal with teaching the Reculta how to pick pockets without being noticed or called out on it by passerby.

From what he'd heard, they were doing fairly well.

The man closes his eyes, head lowering to then press his palms together, forehead resting against his thumbs. As if praying. He thought back on how he'd come to meet the man whom was breathing evenly at this moment.

It had been a rather...interesting encounter to say the least. Though it made him ponder once again as to why -

A low, pained groan came from Altaïr. This had the middle aged Auditore look up, seeing that a pair of grey-blue eyes were slightly open. Dazed and distant but looking right at Ezio nonetheless.

"_Habibi_..."

Or so he thought.

Altaïr had told him once that he'd been married to a beautiful woman, whom no one could dare say they were even on par with her. He'd told Ezio that she was as smart as she was beautiful, perhaps the knowledge even outmatched that, and how he loved her with all his being. How he'd missed her, Altaïr would usually get a distant look in his eyes whenever the assassin decided to grace Ezio with such stories.

"No, Altaïr," the Italian started, only to see a small, pained smile grace the Arabian's lips.

"..._my Habibi_."

Ezio swallowed thickly. The poor man was probably seeing his deceased wife, mind convincing him that she was sitting where the man's friend was, waiting patiently for him to get better.

"Altaïr..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, maybe it would be best if he remained silent.

"_I am sorry._"

The Master Assassin lowered his gaze down to his hands, feeling his chest tighten. He could only guess by the other's saddened facial expression and tone that he'd probably told 'Maria' he was sorry. For what, he did not know. Nor did he think he wanted to.

"_I...am so..._"

The pause had Ezio glance back up, hands tightening their hold on one another when Altaïr's eyes had closed once again, a hand placed atop his stomach, lightly gripping the fabric as his lips parted to breathe out slowly. Biting his lower lip, Ezio closed his own eyes, pressing his forehead to his hands once again. His comrade had passed out, once again looking somewhat peaceful as he slept.

Unlike him.

Why did the man make him uneasy like this? And so easily...

Perhaps it was because he'd convinced himself that Altaïr had become his the moment he fell into his arms, literally, the first day they'd met.

* * *

><p><strong>Flashback<br>**

* * *

><p>It had taken a long time to collect and retrieve all the pages, but here they all were. Tacked down onto the wall and put in their correct places.<p>

The codex had always been important, not only was it an insight on how a Grand Master thought, worked and learned hundreds of years ago. It also held information, diagrams and advice from the mythical object in which the Master had studied relentlessly. With the pages all together once again, carefully placed upon an inset wall and the object known as the Piece of Eden in its holder did it begin. It could bring disaster that would trail on for years though it also had its moments that it wasn't really all that bad.

With a second sight did the map amoungst the pages appear but so did threads of gold. The gold wasn't working around with the thick aggressive red lines though, they were like thread woven into the parchment behind it. With only one assassin looking at it in such away did it become off-putting to the others amoungst the room when the flat expression became confused upon the Auditore's face.

It was odd how he'd never seen them before now.

"What is it?" Came the question but it was unheard as the gold began to pull together in the center of the wall. It seemed to answer itself as the Apple began to glow, silencing all other questions.

As shape took into that of a human form, causing Ezio rush over to the wall, preparing to catch whatever or whoever fell out. He couldn't help the sinking feeling that began to surface once said being had fallen into his arms, his brown orbs scanning over the body's facial features. Only to then have his breath catch in his throat once he noticed the scar marring the right side of the man's parted lips.

Ezio's gaze trailed downward, only to regret it once he saw that the young man's body was barren of clothes. Naked as the day he was born.

A flustered Claudia had turned away immediately, moving a hand to cover the side of her face to hide the sight ever more. Unlike his niece, Mario had moved to remove his cape, moving closer to his nephew and draping it over the naked figure. The elder had paused, studying the man's face before shaking his head and gesturing Ezio stand so they could at least get the passed out form away from everyone's stunned and awkward stares.

Indeed, Ezio stood and held the man closer to his chest, making sure he wasn't touching anywhere inappropriate either.

Turning, he'd made his way upstairs, following his uncle to an empty room to then set the unconscious brunet down once the covers were pulled back. Carefully, slowly, watching as the tanned figure's shifted slightly, fingers twitching. Other than that, he was perfectly still. Both Mario and Ezio had left once the younger Auditore settled the covers atop the newcomer.

After a day, the young Auditore had been woken in a rather interesting matter.

His sister screaming and spouting out something close to, "Calm down, I am not here to hurt you!" A loud crash had been the response to that and a terrified shriek. Whatever residing effects of sleep were soon gone. Ezio had vaulted himself out of bed at that, reaching out to grab the nearest weapon within reach and had rushed to where his sister was. Skidding to a stop in the doorway, the Italian glanced about to see that Claudia was backed into a corner by the -

_Dio...we could have at least dressed him... _had crossed his mind before taking a step forth.

"Unhand her," he growled, pleased once the man had let go of his sister's wrist. Though once he caught sight of a shard from a, he assumed, broken vase, Ezio frowned. "Calm yourself, Signore. We mean you no harm."

Grey-blue eyes locked onto his own, the man looking rather confused.

Oh, lovely, the other didn't understand him. Which meant that the foreigner probably thought that Claudia was threatening him, or something, instead of trying to calm him down.

The assassin held up his dagger, noting how seeing it had the other man tense, then turned and slowly put it down with his eyes still on the nameless man. The tenseness had vanished and was relieved when his action was then copied.

Only to immediately regret the relief once the naked man lunged at him and tackled him to the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>Assassination note 2: <strong>You may take the last line before the flashback however you please. Also...the first seven lines in said flashback are from something a friend and I started but never finished


	6. Chapter 6

**Assassination's note: **Yeah, sorry the chapter's really short but...my mind just died near the end, didn't know how to entirely lead up to it. I promise to make it up to you all in the next chapter...which will be longer than this sorry excuse for a chapter.

* * *

><p>Hands had been around his neck, nearly choking the poor Italian whom was struggling underneath the man straddling him. Who was speaking in some odd language he didn't understand, possibly demanding to know where he was or something.<p>

Surprisingly, all it took was his uncle coming in and saying something that sounded like, "Altaïr," that then had the man's gaze raise to look up at Mario, hands loosening their hold. Whatever his uncle had said afterwards had flown over Ezio's head, considering he had a naked man on him and his sister's face was the darkest red a face could manage to produce.

As long as the man had managed to calm the foreigner down, Ezio did not care in the slightest what he'd said.

Eventually they, Mario and Ezio, had managed to get the other in some clothes. Mostly trials and errors until the man was satisfied with what he was wearing. Claudia had been excused earlier and, surprisingly, the clothes she'd dropped had been what the brunet decided was worth wearing. Once that was finished, the Italian rose a hand to rub his face from exhaustion.

Perhaps he'd felt bad for attacking her.

After the whole incident of trying to communicate with the other, trying to get his name and figure out how he'd gotten there, the young assassin had decided to leave that task to his uncle while he went about to do his business. Said business being Claudia's upcoming birthday.

* * *

><p><strong>End Flashback<strong>

* * *

><p>Poor Claudia, her birthday had been a disaster. Not only was it ruined but they'd lost a home, again, and another member of the family.<p>

Ezio's right hand immediately moved to rub his face as his throat tightened, a shaky breath passing his lips once the image of his uncle's decapitated body falling to the ground in a pool of blood and his head being thrown towards him. How lifeless those eyes had been, how his uncle had been so kind to them, had trained him, taken a fledgling under his wings and taught him all he knew -

How disgraceful Cesare had been to his father-figure.

The eldest Auditore's hand lowered slightly, taking hold of his shirt with dark hues falling shut, the mirth of oncoming tears trying to claw their way to the surface. He sucked in a breath, left hand holding onto his pantleg. His form trembled from the memory.

Dear God, what he wouldn't give to just go back and having killed Rodrigo instead of sparing him. Oh, how he'd wanted to. He wanted to stab the man a million times over, rip his guts from him - while the man was alive. Just so he could watch as his life was being ripped from him. To agonize and plead -

Ezio opened his eyes slowly, raising his head to look over to the bed where Altaïr lie. He blinked once he noticed how the room had gotten darker and to see his mother sitting on the bed, wiping the man's brow with a rag. This had him ponder just how long he'd been thinking, drifting down into what should have been happy thoughts to then fall into a dark abyss.

"M...madre..." Ezio swallowed, raising a hand to wipe away small trails that escaped tears formed. "When did -"

"I have been here for a while, dear." Maria rose her hand that was holding the cloth, looking over at her son with a soft smile. "You've barely moved from that chair. Why don't you go for a walk? I will send word if Altaïr's condition worsens."

The Master Assassin ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his hood off in the process. He thought the suggestion over and eventually came to the conclusion that, yes, that may be a wise thing to do instead of worry himself to death. It's not like the guards were clever enough to figure out that the brothel was housing an injured assassin. Ezio rested his right hand on the arm of the chair, pushing up to stand with a nod directed towards his mother.

"You are right. I...should go for a walk."

A smile was his response before the Auditore turned on his heel, making his way to the door to open it. Casting a glance over his shoulder, the middle aged man offered his own smile before stepping out and shutting the door.

Once her son was gone, Maria had set the rag down with a soft exhale. She then turned her attention to the unconscious form.

"We have lost many from this fight," she started, eyes falling halfway shut as she reached out to lightly take hold of Altaïr's hand, "please Lord, do not take this one yet. My bambino still needs him..." Maria tightened her grip slightly, releasing a slow breath. "...he is Ezio's closest friend and I cannot bear for him to lose him as he did Mario."

This had become a reoccurring prayer she'd started when she had first been alone with Altaïr. When she and Claudia had managed to pry Ezio away and redirect him to more important tasks.

The man's mother could understand why Ezio was having a hard time dealing with this. After all, with the loss of Mario Auditore a couple of months ago, it probably still haunted the young man. Maybe it would break her son beyond the point of repair if he lost someone else, all of the deaths piling upon his shoulders. Weighing him down ever more.

"...he'll be so relieved when you fully awaken, Altaïr, there is no mistaking that."

* * *

><p>Three more days had passed since Altaïr had awoken and spoken to Ezio. Well, again, it was actually his wife he'd been speaking to.<p>

Ezio had been called back to headquarters to discuss their next course of action against the Borgias, leaving his comrade in the hands of his beloved mother and sister. Along with the courtesans, of course. Although he would rather be focused on the task at hand, the Master Assassin couldn't help but wonder once more how the guards knew there would be recruits training and where.

It's not like there was a traitor amoungst their ranks. Or so he hoped there wasn't.

So, there he stood, palms pressed against an oak table as his eyes scanned the map displayed before him with furrowed brows. As far as he'd heard, Cesare's banker was to throw a party soon, inviting only certain guests. Meaning the Auditore would need to sneak in, though that wasn't a problem in the slightest seeing as he'd done it before.

Which means he can do it again.

Ezio rose his right hand, rubbing his chin as he took a step back from the table, blinking once he heard his name be called out somewhere behind him in another room. He turned and made his way to the front, seeing one of the Reculta standing there with a relieved look once they saw him. This had the elder raise his brow, loosely crossing his arms as he waited for the rookie to catch their breath.

"What is it?"

"Mastero..." The recruit swallowed before looking him in the eyes. "Lady Claudia has requested your presence, sir. She said that it is important that you come right away."


End file.
